


perlucens

by wrabbit



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Consensual Sex Question Mark, Consent Issues, Knives, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29018394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: Just luck, that Jonathan still lived to feel the wind and rain on his face, his aching bones, his beloved between his thighs? Did the witch's prophecy - curse and blessing that it was - stay Jamie's hand? Something else?
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	perlucens

Jonathan's vision swam on a waking dream, except in his habitual fantasies, Jamie's naked hips were canted against his, warm and bloodslick in his palms, and what this vision presented him with was a muddy Highlander, growling and crushing Jonathan's manhood under his knee.

He grunted, and sighed, "Jamie." 

Jonathan's fingertips inched under damp wool. They were sliding up a muscled calf before he registered the sensation of ice against his neck - a sharp edge. His hand stopped. 

"Ah."

It was all coming together in pieces: the shadowed line of Jamie's shoulder, his scent, his harsh breaths, cold water dripping on Jonathan's neck, and, off to the side, french windows thrown open to the wind and rain. 

A soft blanket of laudanum held him down as much as Jamie did. It kept Jonathan complacent on his back even as his eyes cleared and his pulse quickened under the knife. 

Searching the dark, Jonathan found brush strokes of light in Jamie's sharp eyes, in the sheen of his set brow and jaw. Even now, he wanted this man here, even here about to murder Jonathan in his bed. 

Jamie shifted and exhaled; without thinking, Jonathan pushed up hard to steal the advantage. 

An arm slamming against Jonathan's windpipe, a knee to the testicles; he grappled Jamie down in a whirlwind that left his head reeling and his shattered leg seizing with pain in the brace he usually unfastened for the night, except that the soporific tincture tended to land like a mallet after a long day and a glass of wine.

Pushing himself up, somehow still alive, Jonathan took stock of his situation. He had Jamie partially on his front, his good arm twisted behind his back, and Jonathan was holding the pocket knife he kept under his pillow to Jamie's neck. Jamie's own weapon was lost somewhere in the dark. 

Confounded, he remained, as far as he could tell, unscathed.

"Good god," he said when a flicker and flash of lightning revealed the mess Jamie had made of his bed sheets, streaked with mud and horse shit and who knew what else. The man was still wearing his boots when he invaded Jonathan's bed.

> ([Jamie's ankle rubbed raw; his blackened bare feet; straw sticking to his skin])

A blast of wind from the open windows misted Jonathan's arm. He was even holding the blade he took from the witch the night Jamie broke into Fort William, materializing out of thin air like some kind of offended, barbarian god.

"We have got to stop meeting like this."

Jonathan swayed suddenly, swallowing bile. Bracing himself against Jamie's shoulder, he squeezed the hilt of the knife, and for a few moments fairly well clung to consciousness. 

Just luck, that Jonathan still lived to feel the wind and rain on his face, his aching bones, his beloved between his thighs? Did the witch's prophecy - curse and blessing that it was - stay Jamie's hand? Something else? 

If Jamie wanted him dead, he would be dead. Jonathan bowed his head so that his face brushed against Jamie's wet hair, and he breathed.

> ([rigid, unbreathing; eyes like the storm tossed sea; gasp like breaking through the waves])

"Can I help you with something?" he mumbled when Jamie jerked his arm, testing Jonathan's hold.

Wasn't that the question.

He'd have to release Jamie soon. He preferred to garner an idea about what was going to happen next before he did that. 

"You owe me," Jamie said, at last. 

"Yes." Jonathan frowned, and winced. His head and leg were pounding an irregular rhythm; the laudanum was finally slipping away and leaving him well out to dry. "Your death."

Jonathan's first thought was that he wasn't in the mood. 

His second was to wonder what Jamie would ask for. Something clean. His mind immediately flashed on a thin steel blade sliding under Jamie's ribs, tender and slow. Cradling the back of his neck, kissing him deeply at the final moment. Jamie's soul passing like a golden bird from his mouth into Jonathan's. 

But Jamie was shaking his head. He easily twisted his wrist out of Jonathan's weakened grip. 

"Ye won't kill me."

Jonathan blinked. He adjusted his hold on the hilt of the small knife, still propped against Jamie's neck, for all that it was worth anything to him if Jamie decided it didn't belong there anymore, either. 

"Really?" he asked. "My death, then."

> (Not yet.
> 
> [firelight; sound of lips parting]
> 
> Please.
> 
> [peach fuzz])

Jamie only directed a growl over his shoulder, before setting his sights on the balcony window he came through, apparently for no particular reason except to destroy Jonathan's linens and steal his pillow out from under him.

If he had a vest or tartan, it was gone somewhere; Jamie's shirt was soaked through. It had been a hot, steamy day before the storm broke. Jonathan imagined him dressing in the dark, slipping out into the gathering clouds and leaving his witch wife unawares. 

Typically, Jamie didn't seem to be inclined to explain himself. That was fine. His presence was more than enough to be going with.

He left Jonathan at a loss, afraid that he might speak a word and shatter this fever dream, wake alone in a pool of his own sour sweat.

What to do, other than slide the blade under Jamie's loose shirt. Jamie inhaled sharply, shoulders and elbows drawing back. 

Cautiously, like stepping into one of their broken circles, daring the capricious spirits that lived there to crush him beneath their standing stones, Jonathan started to drag the fabric up his flank, slowly uncovering, there, his own altar, his masterpiece - his and Jamie's. 

His sweet Galatea, his brave Marsyas. 

Jonathan wondered if Jamie knew how coquettish he looked, arching his spine under the edge of the blade like that.

> ([body and soul leaping into his arms; burning flesh; nails scouring his shoulder])

He touched Jamie's skin over his shoulder and could only breathe for a moment, taken by the way Jamie shivered from that small touch. He dragged his fingertip along his back, feather light, until it slotted into a scar line. He followed that grooved track by feel in the dark, down, down and across to the other side.

Jonathan traced the maze of paths across and down, up and across, from either side, top to bottom, hypnotized by the pathways and rhythms, by the trembles and soft sounds he could just hear under the gusts of wind and rain. 

Jamie could feel it. Jonathan knew he could.

Jonathan sensed him clinging to the sensitive lines drawn by his finger, eyes wide open in the dark, shivering uncontrollably.

He could feel it tingling all the way up and down his arm: threads of the unbreakable cables that tied them together, the net that drew this improbable creature back here - into Jonathan's arms.

He could almost see it glowing in the dark.

> ([a thunderclap; a flash of blood; lightning snapping from Jamie's flesh directly into Jonathan's hand; exploding through his body]) 

"Do they tell you there's nothing to be afraid of? Not to cry? Do they give you potions to make you stop? It's alright. You don't have to pretend with me. You don't have to hide."

Jonathan opened his mouth against the whip trails, rubbing his lips against the uneven texture. He tasted sweat and a bloody memory. 

"I want you like this," he murmured, following Jamie's scent up to the crease of his neck, the fluttering pulse. "Are you scared?"

> (Surrender and I'll stop. Scream and we'll be done.)

Receiving no reply, Jonathan tore the pillow away; Jamie immediately sought privacy with his face against Jonathan's sheets.

"No hiding," Jonathan chided. He itched to break Jamie open all over again. Pressing the flat of the knife to Jamie's side once more, he leaned forward to feel the scars laid against his body - stomach to breastbone, there even through his nightshirt. 

Propping his chin on the curve of Jamie's shoulder, he added: "If you hide from me, I'll come and find you." 

Jamie turned his head to the side, and Jonathan saw that he was upset, and angry, and ashamed, and yes: "Are you scared?" Jonathan asked again. He kissed the upturned cheek.

> ([his scream like the ground torn asunder, ragged; his scream like a dying rabbit, keening; his scream like a falling angel, melodic])

"Yes," Jamie bit out.

A volley of hail crashed against the swinging balcony windows, and Jonathan tipped the knife so the point nicked the skin under Jamie's arm, just there, by the brand. 

"Very good," he said. "Now roll over."

> ([arms stretched overhead; sweat-soaked curls])

He held the knife away from Jamie's gut while the man turned underneath him, bemused by the mundane, domestic intimacy of it - Jamie wiggling gracelessly onto his back, Jonathan shifting his braced leg into a marginally more comfortable position.

He threw the blade aside into the dark. 

Jamie could drop him, crippled, and throttle Jonathan on his bedroom floor. He could gut him with the second blade he was certain to have secreted somewhere on his person, or even pick up the first. 

He didn't. 

Jonathan's attention was snagged by Jamie's left arm, flexing nervously at his side.

> ([clawed fingers; red black; like peeling back rose petals, delicate])

"Show me."

Jamie resisted Jonathan's touch on his arm before relenting to a reproachful look. 

He sucked in deep, hard breaths through his nose, and trained a warning glare on Jonathan as he slowly guided Jamie’s wrist up to lay against his chest - just the way he held it before, like something he'd found, something born at night.

"There," Jonathan said, soothing him. "That's where it goes." 

Bowing carefully, so as not to startle his nervous guest, he kissed the back of Jamie's hand over the brace. It smelled wrong - dry, medicinal. 

He wished fiercely that he hadn't thrown the knife away; he'd rip out the laces and learn the new shape of every busted joint if he had the strength.

> ([smell of lavender; mottled bruise]
> 
> Say yes. 
> 
> [bronze dusted cheek on his shoulder])

Jamie went cold and brave under the knife, but he jerked and winced back an unhappy whine when Jonathan reached under his kilt to caress the naked skin of his thigh.

Jonathan chased his displeasure, all the way up.

> (I might have done this sooner, if I had known that this is all it takes to make you cry.)

"Does she do this? Does she touch you here?"

His broken hand cradled between their chests, Jamie released a stifled cry at the first press inside. He shuddered under Jonathan's questing hand, gripped his shoulder. "No." 

"No?"

"Don't," Jamie breathed, and Jonathan sighed to feel it soft on his neck. "Don't."

> (Have you had enough?
> 
> [calves trembling; toes slipping in blood]
> 
> Is it enough?) 

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he said and gasped at the way Jamie opened to his fingers, the curtains of his face abruptly falling to reveal an inner hell of anguish profound.

Jonathan stroked his face and hair with a trembling hand. "There you are. Here you are."

> ([feverishly warm; knee sliding up; ankles interlocked; a liquid glide; a wounded noise])

Who else would come to him like this? Willingly flayed, giving everything with his eyes clear and his mouth open. Splayed open to the bones of his shining soul.

In powerful recognition, Jonathan knew also that no one else could do this for Jamie. Who else dared to reach inside, to hold him in the deepest places, to kiss the bile from his mouth? 

Only Jonathan would look and never look away, never let go, never ask Jamie to be less than what he was: infinite, holy, a feral spirit exploding like the full summer sun in his arms. 

"Oh, you beautiful thing. You angel."

> ([split inner lip; fingertip sliding over teeth; slick velvet])

He cupped Jamie's face when he cried out and turned his chin aside, soothed his wet cheek with his thumb: "With me. Look at me."

He couldn't mount Jamie, not with his injuries. It didn't matter. Not when he could have this: Jamie speared on his fingers, moaning in despair when Jonathan stroked the place inside that blew out fragile architecture of his ribs again and again, had him burning up against Jonathan's body, had his eyelids pinned open in animal panic - or revelation.

> (Let me see.)

No distractions, just all the doors and windows of his soul thrown open to this. Just the taste of sweat and tears. Just the column of Jamie's neck thrown back under his hand, every gulp and swallow and damp distressed sound fluttering like birds under his palm.

He caught Jamie's gaze when it strayed out of focus, held him there, and swayed closer to take Jamie's breath into his mouth and return it with his own. He descended to taste Jamie's next whimper on his tongue.

> (What's my name?
> 
> [grunts like a nursing lamb]
> 
> With me this time. 
> 
> Wh-?
> 
> Jamie.
> 
> [clumped eyelashes] 
> 
> Say it.
> 
> [his lips, his hair, his skin, his eyes, his freckles, the taste, the sound, the scars]
> 
> Say my name. 
> 
> Randall.)

**Author's Note:**

> Title means "shining / being transparent." From The Tale of Marsyas (Ovid, Metamorphoses Book VI): salientia viscera possis et perlucentes numerare in pectore fibras // you could have counted the organs throbbing and the sinews shining in his chest.
> 
> Beta read by [i_dwell_in_darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_dwell_in_darkness/) (thank you!).


End file.
